Yesterday

So I sit at a café in Paris and relive my life. I feel the pain of yesterday and the anxiety of today. I see that my pain is so palpable, I almost reach out and touch it. I look down, and it seems that my hand is no longer mine, but a lost appendage unable to write even the simplest haiku. No, I can’t ignore it, I let it simmer and fester until the free flowing sadness begins to leak from my pores. I catch it in my hand and toss it over my shoulder. that. sadness. desire, reality, and YESTERDAY. The sting of thought snaps me back into reality, eyes on fire for reasons unknown. Within a blink, I’m back to the house I grew up in, 4556. Waves of nostalgia crash, I’m down again. The green of the carpet in my bedroom reminds me of my vomit from three days ago, I sickly smile. I see my mother and avoid her eyes, they’re as sad as mine happen to be. S I’m walking the streets of Paris, avoiding the cracks because I still love her, and I come upon a penny(heads up). Once again I toss it over my shoulder. that. her eyes. that carpet. nostalgia, and YESTERDAY. So I’m heading to sleep in Paris and my eyes can’t focus, staring at the lamp that reminds me of my grandfather. We always joked that he’d choose when he wanted to go, gunshot to the heart, self inflicted. I’m afraid to fall asleep because when I do, I’m sure someone else is going to die. My fingers shake along with my clacking knees. Up and down, up and down. The sound echoes and swells in my ears and in my desert chest. I must have used my last tissue because I can’t find any, I guess my tears will fall. They fell before and I couldn’t catch them, I let them tell me what to do. Tonight I wipe my tears with my hand and flick them over my shoulder. that. gunshots. insomnia. tissues, and YESTERDAY. So I begin to awake in Paris and I look in the mirror unable to recognize the woman with sad eyes that stares blankly at me. She begins to rot in front of me, waves of skin pour from her face, her eyes drained of life, teeth on chin on chest, She takes some in her hand that resembles bones from the catacombs, and tosses them over her shoulder. that. reflection. recognition. sad eyes, and YESTERDAY!

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.